


Twelve Stories Tall

by whenthenightfalls224



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Depression, Drinking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Suicide, possible triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenthenightfalls224/pseuds/whenthenightfalls224
Summary: When will my life be over?





	Twelve Stories Tall

He stood at the edge of the twelve story building, letting his feet dangle over the edge. He could fall by accident, any second, but he could care less whether his death was truly from him jumping or not.

Of course, he reasoned, there was a certain romanticism to death by your own hands. It shouldn’t be so, he knew, but at this point it was his one solace. Death wasn’t the answer. That’s what all his teachers said. What his doctors said. But he was almost content with this surely messy death that was soon to occur. And, of course, he could have chosen something a little less messy than to have his body slam into the pavement below. However, he was always the romantic. And to him, it seemed, that a simple rope, or razor wouldn’t be enough. Maybe the free falling would be romantic, to finally break free from the pain. And he knew he had to do this. 

That was the obvious thing at least. He had tried, once before, with a razor. But, as he should have known, bleeding out was a tedious process. The police were there before he had even lost a pint of blood. Not this time. This time it was final. Definite. He looked over the edge, over his feet, to see the pavement so far below. It was night. No one knew, or cared, he was up here. And that was the way it should be. If he did this, it would be done right. No loose ends with anyone- and there wasn’t. He had no friends. His family were either dead, or could care less. And then his thoughts came to the only good few months of his life. Because of one person. That boy.

They had met years ago. Well, not exactly. When they were seniors in high school, he would sneak looks at him. The boy seemed nice, he was friendly, he was attractive, everything he wasn’t. He found out the boy’s name. He went up to him and then, they started talking. He had had no friends before, but this boy, he was something to live for. He brought him out of his years long depression. Brought the life back to him. He didn’t even cut or drink for months. He had something, someone, to help with his pain.

Then they graduated. He had no plans for college, seemily, he thought he would not even survive this long. The boy was different. He went to a college, up north somewhere, and he did not remember the details. But one detail he did remember was that this boy met other people. Other friends, other people to love. The boy didn’t talk to him anymore. 

His focus drifted back to the present. He stood up, and took a long sip of the beer he had brought up here with him, before throwing it to the pavement. He took a long breath.

And he didn’t think about the boy. He thought about his parents, who yelled at him and each other, until it destroyed them all. He thought of the few who had ever talked to him- how they lied to his face and stabbed him in the back. And he knew. 

There was no one. He had no one. No one cared. No one knew, or would know. His death wouldn’t be on the news, he was nothing even remotely special. Average at everything. With no dreams, or hopes, every one of them crushed by years of knowing that he was nothing. 

So there was nothing left for him here. He took another deep breath. He stepped to the edge of the building, and saw in the distance the lights of a city he would never enter again. 

He stood there and looked around and there was no one. Not nearby. No one there for him. 

I am alone. There is nothing left for me here.

He leaned off the edge, letting the gravity do the work. He fell 12 stories. He felt something he never had before.

Regret? No, happiness? 

He started counting. When will my life be over?

1..2..3….

Goodbye.


End file.
